


Stardust

by the_cloud_whisperer



Category: Death Note
Genre: Angst, Biblical References, Deathfic, Introspection, Overly Philosophical Near, Too Many Metaphors, Western literature is made of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 03:37:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_cloud_whisperer/pseuds/the_cloud_whisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Near contemplates the ones who left him behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stardust

**Author's Note:**

> Bit of a late deathday fic; just trying to work out how this site works and everything. A little rough, not remotely uplifting, I wish you luck. Do not own Death Note.

When you lived, Mello, you were made of fire. You were plasma and smoke and 451 degrees Fahrenheit. You were an earthly Helios; tears were shed like evening dew when you set. The only reason there wasn't a second Flood was that there were too few of us left to mourn you.

You living and you dead: they are so different. Eulogies always include a variation of this clause: "The spirits of the dead live on in the hearts of the living." What nonsense. You're dead. No mere memory of you can erase the fact that you are now a carpet of ashes lying across a decrepit church floor, something to be tread upon by thrill seekers gawking at the old curios.

When fire burns out, all that remain are ashes. Rather like the bits and pieces that Matt would flick off from a spent cigarette—you know what I'm talking about. Sometimes when I'm being fanciful, which has been happening a lot more since your death, I imagine he was a smaller, orbiting star to your solar system. Not one of those binary star systems; he never had fire to match yours. He didn't burn to ashes, either; he just bled out. He'll never know you passed the same day he did, unless there is an existence after this one. I would hope you two were together even there. You could never bear to be apart; even in words, you would need to be in the same sentence. Matt and Mello, January 26th, 2010. I can't say 'rest in peace' because I don't know if there is anywhere to rest after this.

As for myself, I'll always be my own sentence, usually simple, always cold. A little like dry ice, but not, because I'm not so cold that I burn.

I won't burn. I'll just crumble into dust, no less alive than I was in life, where I was already mostly dead. How does the old adage go…ashes to ashes and dust to dust. So it is.

There was another one, wasn't there? Fight fire with fire, but that didn't work. The first time, you rose again; the second time, you were already dead when the flames descended. You were defeated by dust, Mello, by a tool of a god that came from a world crumbling into dust.

Perhaps it is not so different from our own. Perhaps that was why you passed so soon: you were not of this world and as such could not linger long in it.

Don't look for me, Mello, for I will be indistinguishable from all the rest of the dust that collects in cemeteries that do not grow, because all the earth is one great mausoleum. Consign yourself to ashes, but never repent. It is through no fault of your own that the world chose to smother you, dust over fire, until only ashes remained.


End file.
